


Waiting Game

by kcm



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcm/pseuds/kcm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the song "Waiting Game" by Banks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Game

I stayed back, half hidden behind a pillar that held part of the screens which later that night would show the full effects of the show to the crowd. I leaned into the cool metal, my hands gripping it tightly, but my body leaning softly. My eyes were locked on them, oblivious to my stalker-esque intrusion. 

He smiled at her, his entire attention focused on what she was saying. Their hands were linked, and my eyes didn’t miss how his thumb traced back and forth across the back of her hand. 

He had done that with me several times.

He was showing her the view from the stage, all the seats that would soon be filled with thousands of screaming fans. She had visited him on the road only once before, back on the European part of the tour. Here, in America, it was different. At least it felt different to me.

He laughed at something she said. She joined him in the laughter, leaning in to his body with hers, her shoulder tucking into the crook of his as he wrapped an arm around her protectively. He kissed the top of her head. 

It was then, when he looked up from what he thought was their private moment, that he saw me.

His eyes widened slightly, for a moment, before his face composed. He stayed looking at me for what felt like ages, but in reality was probably just a few seconds before she said something else and his face quickly recovered, returning to the carefree expression expected of him.

I snickered coldly, dropping my eyes as I shook my head. 

He was so good at this. Hiding everything. He was a master.

I looked around my surroundings of the back of the stage. A few people on the crew milled about. No one paying me any attention. And why would they? I belonged here. I had spent the last 5 months with these people, so me standing, seemingly casually, against part of the stage was nothing to draw attention.

It was only me who then realized how pathetic I looked. And felt. Hiding in the shadows watching them. Watching him.

I shook my head, pushing off the pillar and quickly heading backstage to my dressing room. Thankfully, it was empty. There was still hours before the show, most people just milling about, paying no attention, nowhere to be in particular. 

I sat on the small sofa against the wall. Immediately pulling my knees towards my chest and wrapping my arms around them, building a make shift shield around myself with my own body. 

How had I gotten here. I wasn’t this person. I was raised right, knew right from wrong. I was a good person.

Wasn’t I?

I laughed out loud at my own thoughts.

I guess a good person wouldn’t be fucking another girls fiancé. Behind her back. Frequently.

He pursued me the moment I joined the tour. I had always been a fan, and had to admit had always found him attractive. His dark eyes, chiseled features. He looked more like a vogue model than a singer. Problem was, he knew it. 

He was the quiet one, the one everyone noticed because of his looks, but not the one to draw attention to himself. He had a quiet confidence, a way about him that drew you in with little effort on his account. 

When I had started as their opening act, he seemed to take it upon himself to help me adjust to life on the road. We spent the first month just getting to know each other. I knew it was strange, and probably wrong, to be spending this much time with him, but it seemed harmless. There would be the occasional touch, or comment, that in anyone elses eyes would be crossing a line, but I never discouraged it. I liked it.

I kept thinking it over. How things had progressed. The first night he kissed me, he had had a fight with her. Showed up at my hotel room upset, angry. The moment I opened the door he pushed me back, slamming it closed and pushing me against the wall. His lips claimed mine frantically. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should stop him for countless reasons. 

I didn’t.

I woke up the next morning with him in my bed.

The next 4 months were less dramatic. But no less passionate. And definitely frequent. We would spend most nights in each others beds, the feelings he brought to my body those I had never felt before. He made me feel beautiful, wanted. He made me feel sexy.

And I was ashamed.

I didn’t know her. I knew of her, having heard her songs with her own group. And of course their relationship was documented to the best of the medias ability, despite his discretion and efforts at privacy. She seemed like a nice girl, but his stories of her during our post coital pillow talk painted a different picture. I told him once that what we were doing was wrong. He said she did the same, and was much less careful with regard to his feelings on the matter.

He was there when I needed him, a shoulder to lean on. I felt myself falling for him, but would quickly push the feelings aside, not waiting to cause anymore pain than I was sure I already was.

Both to her, him, and myself.

The door to my room opened, and he slipped inside. Closing it softly, he stood back for a moment, observing me carefully before crossing the short distance to sit on the small coffee table in front of me. I kept my legs pulled up, a barrier between us.

He looked at me, his eyes locked on mine, before rubbing his hand over the stubbed on his face that always seemed to be there. Just enough to be sexy.

“Im sorry,” he started. I almost snorted. He had apologized a few times after catching me watching him with her. As if spending time with Perrie wasn’t allowed. “She surprised me here. I didn’t expect her to show up like this.”

I exhaled loudly, my eyes closing. I felt disgusting. I was a horrible person. 

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, albeit stupidly.

“Im thinking things over.” I admitted.

Seeming to catch on to my thoughts he spoke up again. “Stop it.” He scolded gently. “Stop thinking that this is your fault. Its not. Its mine. I started this.”

“But I didn’t stop it, Zayn.” I added, speaking for the first time. “I knew you were with her, and I just didn’t care. I knew before I even met you that you were in a relationship with her. And not even just a relationship, you are engaged to her.” I reached up to run my fingers through my hair roughly, grasping it at the roots and giving a tug as a form of punishment to myself, and out of frustration. “And if Im feeling like Im evil, we’ve got nothing to gain here.”

“Don’t say that. You are not evil. How could you think that?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE ENGAGED!” I shouted, letting my legs fall down to the floor with a thud. “And Im fucking you behind her back.”

He looked around the empty room quickly, not able to stop himself from checking to make sure no one would have heard my outburst and confession.

“Stop.” He said, forcefully, his hands reaching for mine, but I pulled away. Most of the time I craved his touch. Right now, it was the last thing I wanted.

“My job is to be on stage.” I said, not looking at him. “Yours too. Other than what is socially expected, we shouldn’t see each other.”

“That doesn’t solve anything,” he started. “you’re all I think about. When I sing, I think about you, not her.”

I shook my head with a sickened smirk. I was more sick at myself than him, however. “Don’t tell me to listen to your songs, because it isn’t the same. We both know you’re not going to leave her. You cant. And if you did, we would never be able to truly be together, constantly haunted and hunted because of how we started. And Im at the point where Im not willing to wait for something that I know isn’t going to come my way. Im not in to waiting games.”

“You cant tell me how to feel. And you’re acting as if the way we started was cursed from the start” he argued.

“Wasn’t it?” I snorted. “Are you going to leave her? Tell the lads, your friends, your family, that you’re leaving her for me? Tell the world, your fans, everyone who adores you, that you are leaving your fiancé for your mistress?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but I interrupted before he could. “And when the world attacks us, BOTH of us, will you still hold me and tell me that you think this whole thing was smart? Was the right thing to do?”

He closed his mouth, not knowing how to answer the words coming from my mouth.

“Cause to be honest, lately, Ive been scared of even thinking about where we are.” My eyes fell to my knees as I pulled them back into my chest as a shield once again. “I feel like we are at the point where we need to call this off, or make it more. And I know you aren’t ready to do either.”

I let myself look at him, to see the look in his eyes that I knew would be there, confirming my statement. “So Im going to have to do it for us, Zayn.” My voice choked on his name, but I kept going. “We need to stop this. Now. Before we all get hurt.”

I expected him to argue, to fight for me. But he didn’t. He just sat there, an impassive look on his face. He couldn’t argue with me, because deep down, he knew everything I was saying was right. 

Finally he spoke. “Im not going to accept that.” He stated firmly.

I smirked, but in a humorless way. “Accept it or not, it’s the way it has to be.”

“Bullshit,” he countered. “We both know, the moment shes gone, back home, we will be together. You cant resist me any more than I can resist you.”

Even though I knew he was right, it angered me that he thought so highly of himself. 

“Im stronger than you think I am.” I challenged. 

He glared at me, and I half expected him to lunge across at me, to take my face in his hands and kiss me like the largest part of me wanted him to. He didn’t. He glared at me, challenging me silently with his gaze.

Quickly and without warning, he stood, turning towards the door. He made to leave, but turned back to me when his hand was on the door knob. 

He locked his eyes on mine, before giving me one final statement before walking out angrily. “And Im more determined than you think I am.”


End file.
